Reed
. . .
The entire family has been stuck here for the past few days since Layla shared what she’s been through; they’re just acting like a family should.
Maverick is lying on the rug next to Leo on his baby mat, babbling at him while Amelia sits crisscross, gently rubbing slow circles along his back.
Carter and Catalina sit together on the couch, with her reading her gossip blogs while he rubs her growing belly.
Layla looks better today; she finally got out of bed and is sitting on the floor with Mav, playing with Leo.
She looks brighter, her smile slowly returning.
The bruises might be fading, but I know this will never truly go away. And I’ll make damn sure I spend the rest of my life ensuring she always feels safe in my home, in my arms, with me.
I yearn to touch her, to hold her, but the girls don’t know about us, and there’s never a right time to say it. I’ll let her take the lead; she’s been through enough.
Catalina’s laugh rings out. “Reed Hayes, are you just gonna stand there starin’ at her, or are you gonna come sit down like a normal person?”
Maverick snorts, glancing over his shoulder. “Yeah, man, you’re creeping.”
“Watch it,” I mutter, but there’s no heat behind it.
Amelia smirks. “You are kinda brooding.”
“Brooding?” I arch a brow. “You all share the same vocabulary.”
“Maybe,” Amelia says, grinning.
I shake my head, attempting to dismiss it, but the reality is—I am brooding. I can’t escape it.
Layla seems more vibrant today, lighter, like she’s beginning to find herself again. However, I notice the ghosts lingering in her eyes when she believes no one is looking.
And every time I see them, I want to pull her into my arms and promise her that no one will ever hurt her again.
So I remain where I am, allowing her to laugh with them and gradually rebuild parts of herself in her own time.
Until then, I’ll keep standing here, memorizing the sound of her laugh, how she runs her fingers through Leo’s soft hair, and the subtle curve of her smile when she notices me looking.
It’s enough, for now.
By noon, the house smells like a Sunday cookout. Carter’s infamous ribs are slow-roasting in the oven, Catalina’s got three pots on the stove, and Maverick’s been caught “taste-testing” at least six times.
“Swear to God, Mav,” Catalina warns, pointing a wooden spoon at him. “If you touch that mac and cheese one more time, I’ll break your hand. The baby is craving this. I’ll hurt you.”
He grins, already backing away with a bite in his mouth. “Worth it.”
Amelia rolls her eyes from the counter where she’s slicing cornbread. “You have no self-control.”
“Funny, you don’t seem to mind when I’m deep in—”
She bumps his hip with hers, cutting him off. “MAVERICK!”
Carter snorts from his spot at the sink, drying a dish. “Y’all are exhausting.”
“Don’t act like you’re any better,” Catalina says, tossing him a dish towel. “You were on your knees earlier begg—”
“Darlin’,” Carter warns, rubbing her belly when she passes.
The entire room hums with that familiar Hayes energy.
And right in the middle of it all is Layla.
She’s at the table with her sleeves rolled up, carefully arranging plates and laughing at something Amelia said.
Her hair’s down now, brushing against the collar of my flannel. There’s color back in her cheeks and a subtle spark in her eyes.
She laughs at something Maverick says now, and the sound nearly knocks the air out of me.
“Reed,” Catalina calls, breaking through my daze. “You just gonna stand there starin’ or help pass out drinks?”
I clear my throat. “Right. Drinks.”
Maverick smirks. “Bro’s in another galaxy.”
“Shut up,” I mutter, grabbing the pitcher.
Layla glances at me as I set a glass in front of her, that same little smile tugging at her lips. “Thanks,” she says quietly.
“Anytime, sunshine.”
When the food’s finally ready, everyone gathers around the table.
Catalina sets down a bowl with a triumphant grin. “All right, nobody move till I say grace, or Maverick’s gettin’ another lecture on manners.”
“C’mon, I was starving,” he grumbles, but bows his head anyway.
Lunch becomes a blur of laughter and clinking silverware.
Maverick tries to convince everyone that he makes the best potato salad, until Amelia points out that it came from the store.
Carter shares a story about Leo learning to crawl and nearly getting into Cupcake’s water bowl, and about Catalina’s cry-laughing so hard she almost spills her tea.
And Layla is laughing with them, her shoulders relaxed and eyes bright.
She looks at me across the table, smiling in that gentle, private way. I don’t smile easily, but damn if she doesn’t make it look effortless.
Catalina notices, of course. “Layla, you look happier today,” she says, her tone genuine and warm.
Layla tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I feel lighter, like I can breathe again.”
Carter nods, showing seriousness for a moment. “That’s all we want for you.”
The table falls quiet for a beat.
Maverick, unable to stand the silence, points his fork at me. “Reed’s finally smilin’ again, too. I was startin’ to think his face was stuck like that.”
“Keep talkin’, and I’ll feed you your fork,” I shoot back.
Everyone laughs.
I glance around the table—my brothers, their wives, and the people who make this old house feel like home—then back to her.
She fits in here as if she’s always belonged.
Her spark, her fire, is finding its way back.